


Neither Can I

by undersail2013



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel is canon, Episode: s09e06 Heaven Can't Wait, Indian food, M/M, fanfiction gap A, feeding up Dean, pre-destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 17:48:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undersail2013/pseuds/undersail2013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some hours magically elapse on the drive from the high school to Nora's house.  Our boys probably grab a bite...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neither Can I

“You hungry?”

“I had a doughnut six hours ago.”

“Three meals a day, Cas,” Dean huffed, tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel. “At least. You gotta keep up your strength for, I don’t know, putting up with people all day.”

Cas relented. “I am a little hungry.”

“What are you in the mood for? I passed a Sonic out on the highway, or there’s an Indian place just up the street, across from the Biggerson’s.” They were sure as hell not going to Biggerson’s.

“Indian? Real Indian food?”

“Um, I assume so, why?”

His whole face broke into that sweet warm “memories-of-home” smile of his, like it was lit from within. Times like this, it occurred to Dean that he had never had a use for the word _beatific_ before he met Cas. “We use the spices of India in most of our spells. I often thought that if I ever took a vessel, I would like to taste them.”

“That answers that, then,” Dean replied cheerfully, only too happy to oblige. “If only I’d known sooner.”

~

Dean’s senses reeled from the spicy air even before he stepped through the doorway, trailing Cas. He couldn’t see his expression, but he saw Cas' shoulders rising into a deep breath and heard the low, slow exhale. They were either early for dinner or late for lunch, because there were no other customers in the place. The wait staff swarmed them immediately, seating them, shoving menus at them, pouring water, offering specials in what was definitely not English. Dean felt a little overwhelmed, until he recognized Cas’ voice among the others. He lifted his eyes from the almost-undecipherable menu ( _what the hell is_ aloo?) and watched his friend charm every one of the servers with his knowledge of, well, everything, in their own tongue. Cas. Awkward, socially inept, can’t-talk-to-humans Cas, absolutely endearing himself to these people. Dean chuckled softly, inadvertently calling Cas’ attention. 

“You’ll eat spinach, right?”

“Uh, yeah. Whatever you want.” _He’s ordering for us. In fucking Hindi. I may need a drink for this._ “Do they have beer?” 

Cas shot Dean a look that screamed, _Philistine!_ “We’re having tea. It’s traditional.”

Dean barely suppressed a smile, ending instead with a pouty smirk. “Yeah, okay. Whatever.” Somewhere in the hubbub, it amused Dean to notice, Cas had shed the vest, folded it, draped it neatly over the back of his chair. He’d hardly realized he was still wearing it, let alone that it was off. _Huh. You’d think I’d be hyper-aware of his clothes after seeing him in the same stuff for so long._

Cas sent the waiters away with a friendly grin, before turning his attention to Dean. “Did you catch any of that?”

“Ha. No. I did not ‘catch’ any of that. What was that, Hindi?” 

“Actually, it’s a street dialect known as _bambaiya_.”

Dean laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. _Fuck, that’s hot._ “Really?” he squeaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Wow, that’s uh.” _Strike two, loser._ “Cool.” _Not cool._ He tapped his fingers on the glass tabletop. “So what are we eating?”

Cas’ lips pursed into an almost-smirk and he rattled off a few meaningless words, before Dean held up a hand. “Whoa, in English.”

Cas rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “Basically, flatbread, crispy bread, rice, chickpeas, potato and cauliflower curry, peppers and onions with tofu-“

“Dude, _tofu?_ ”

“Yes. I told them that you wouldn’t approve, but they assured me it’s delicious. Also,” he paused to find his place in the litany, “cheese cubes in spinach sauce, samosas- that’s a sort of fried, uh, dumpling, I guess,” he added, making a triangle shape with his fingers, “and a fenugreek fritter as well. Hot spiced tea in milk to drink. Oh, and two heavily spiced desserts: one made from yogurt and the other from carrots and cashews.” He grimaced and muttered, “I should have asked them about black salt.”

“Holy shit. Did you just order one of everything?”

“No," Cas replied, eyes wide and serious. "Just a few things that they specifically recommended for beginners.” 

Dean gestured no. “Uh-uh, no way. One, that’s way too much food for two people. Two, I don’t want to spend a hundred bucks on lunch.”

Cas looked a little hurt. “I have money.”

“You… uh, what?”

“I don’t have a lot, but I think I can treat you to lunch.” He stopped, suddenly shy. “I mean, you know, rare indulgence, um.”

 _He’s flustered._ Dean pulled a poker face and stepped up to save him. “Yeah, I mean, how often do you get to fulfill your life’s dream? You’ve waited, what, millennia, right?”

“Yeah.” Cas smiled. “I guess I’m a pretty weird human,” he added with some gravity.

“I don’t know, Cas, you’re better at this human thing than I’ll ever be. Look at you: a job, your own money,” Dean beamed. “I bet you got a cute little apartment somewhere, too.” 

He shook his head sadly. “Too expensive; believe me, I’ve looked. But I spent most of my first paycheck on a cold-weather sleeping bag and some warm clothes, and-” 

Dean looked confused. “What happened to the clothes I gave you?”

Cas' mood changed in an instant. He glowered at Dean. “I gave them away.”

“You gave- The jacket, too?” Dean demanded a little too loudly.

“Especially the jacket.” 

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. 

Cas softened a bit. “I was angry, and this felt like vengeance, because you-”

“That was Dad’s jacket,” Dean interrupted softly.

Cas stopped short. “Oh,” he breathed. He found Dean’s eyes. “Dean. I’m sorry, I should have known. I knew you were attached to it, but I didn’t know…”

“You knew I was attached to it,” he repeated, still so quietly. “I thought you would figure out that I was giving you my favorite coat. As a promise that I would bring you home as soon as I could.”

“Dean. I-”

“S’okay,” ending the discussion.

A long silence followed, in which the teenaged daughter of the owner shyly brought the _masala chai_ to the two cute guys staring anywhere but at each other. Cas poured a cup and passed it wordlessly to Dean before pouring one for himself. He sipped at it, trying hard to look miserable for Dean while simultaneously striving not to moan in ecstasy over the drink.

Dean coughed to break the silence. “So. You have a job and money and you’re looking at apartments. Do you, uh. Hmm. What’s it like being human?”

“Difficult. Confusing.” He lifted his teacup. “Sometimes oddly exhilarating.”

“Bet you’ll be happy to strap on your angel wings,” though he winced as soon as he said it. 

Cas said nothing, staring into his _chai_.

“Don’t you want your mojo back?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Some days I think yes, some days I-” He looked up at Dean. “Some days I think, ‘Being human may be the answer to everything I need.’” He held Dean’s gaze for a moment before dropping his eyes to his hands. “There’s no reason to believe that I even have a choice.”

“If anyone can fix this, it’s us. Something Charlie said: ‘There’s pretty much nothing the Winchesters can’t do if they work to-’ Hmmm.” Dean paused, cleared the cobwebs, “If they work together. And I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but you’re a Winchester, too. Like it or not, you’re part of the plan.”

Cas looked at Dean like he was trying to decipher him. At last, he replied, “I’m honored.”

Dean shook off the compliment. “You and Sam are like brothers. And you and me-” His face worked through a dozen different emotions before settling on a dreamy half-grin. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“I’m the only friend you’ve ever had,” Cas teased, but solemnly.

Dean laughed, a little surprised by the actually successful attempt at humor. “Shut up,” he smirked. “Really, though, Cas. I never forget that, without you,” smile slowly fading, “I would literally be in Hell.” Something in his cheek twitched. 

“Even to me, it seems so long ago.”

He nodded. “Yup.”

Their eyes carried the conversation from there.

At length, Cas spoke. “What do you think? About us ‘fixing this,’” Cas air-quoted.

“What? Do I think we can somehow reverse the spell and get you back your grace? Yeah. I don’t know how, but I’m sure we can.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. I mean, assuming that I have a choice, which do you think I should choose?”

“Oh no, no way, no. Cas, this is your decision, no one else’s. You have to decide for you. I- I am not going to influence you.”

“I’m just asking if-”

“Cas, this is your _species_ we’re talking about. Your… body,” he stammered, gesturing helplessly. “The rest of your life. You can’t make this decision for anyone but you.” 

“Dean, please.”

“Okay,” he relented, putting his hands up in surrender. He rubbed a hand over his stubble as he considered how to answer. At length, he nodded. “I want you to pick the one that makes you happy. I- I want you to be happy, Cas. Whether happy is working at the Gas N Sip and dating the boss, or being a heavenly badass, I really don’t care which you pick. If you’re happy.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” staring at Dean as if he was boring into his soul. 

_Which I guess he used to do, but…_ “What do _you_ want?” Dean asked softly.

“I want to be happy. I want to not hurt. Which one will hurt the least?”

“I don’t know. Maybe neither. You and me, maybe we’re not built for happy. I’m not happy, and I’ve been human my entire life. Well, most of the time.”

Cas frowned.

“And I sincerely doubt if _I’d_ be any happier if _I_ were a-” Dean stopped himself.

“Winged dick?” 

Dean chuckled, embarrassed. “Yeah.”

Cas chewed on that answer, before asking, “And speaking as a hunter?”

“Speaking strictly as a hunter, no emotions, just the job?”

“Just the job.”

Dean puckered his lips and bobbed his head. “It’s hard to say no to a front line fighter with unlimited hitpoints and healing abilities.”

Cas looked miserable.

“But,” Dean continued, “that guy had his baggage, too. Never followed orders,” he grinned, and a small smile appeared on Cas’ lips. “Never took advice. The most arrogant son of a bitch I ever had the pleasure of fighting with. In every sense of the word.” He sat back in his chair, assessing Cas, taking him in. “If you still wanted to be a hunter, I would never turn you away, powers or no powers. You’re always a Winchester.” He raised an index finger, remembering. “And a founding member of Team Free Will.” 

Cas glued his eyes to the white teapot. “And if I can’t, or won’t, be a hunter? For fuck’s sake, Dean, I’m a soldier of God! And now all of a sudden I’m too afraid of a _battlefield medic_ to stand and fight with you? What the hell good am I? What the hell is the point?”

“Hey, no.” Leaning in, catching and holding Cas’s eye, Dean spoke quietly, urgently. “I’ve seen you at your worst. I’ve heard you talk before of giving it all up.” He closed his eyes, shook his head, tried to clear the mist that threatened to obscure his vision. “Cas, I can’t let you do that. You’re too important to me. To all of us. We need you.” His hand darted out involuntarily to rest on Castiel’s. “If you want me to tell you what to do, I’m telling you now: choose the life that makes you want to live.”

A full minute passed, and another, and another, in silent worship. 

It was Cas who looked away first, to discover the weight covering his hand. He stared a moment, and his gaze drew Dean’s. Without moving another muscle, Dean turned his eyes back to Cas’ face, and saw him pale and trembling.

“Cas? You okay?”

“Excuse me,” he apologized, jumping up and disappearing into the restroom.

Dean wondered if he should follow, even as his legs began to move. He knocked at the door. “Cas? You okay in there?”

“I’m fine. You can come in,” he croaked.

Dean found him leaning over the tiny pedestal sink, one hand splayed against the mirror for balance, the other clutching his stomach. ‘If you’re gonna be sick, do it in the toilet,” he murmured, grasping Cas’ shoulder to support him. 

Cas blew out a breath. “I’m fine, Dean.”

“You’ve certainly mastered the little white lie. What’s going on?”

Cas averted his eyes. “I guess you would say I- I got emotional. This body is so foreign. This never happened when I was an angel,” he lamented.

Dean unconsciously rubbed his thumb back and forth against the seam of Cas’ shirt. 

“That’s not helping,” Cas complained-but-not-really, pressing into the touch. But it seemed to give him strength: the arm eventually dropped from his midsection, he relaxed his death grip on the mirror, and he stood a little taller. With another deep breath, he was able to look Dean in the eye (in the mirror), and state truthfully, “I’m fine.”

“Just a little panic attack,” Dean told him calmly. “Happens to all of us sometimes. Happens to some of us a lot more than we’ll ever admit.” He looked down at his hand, still fitted to Cas’ shoulder, and thought of another time, another life. Dropping his hand, Dean smiled. “Come on, before they think we’re making out in the bathroom! Splash some cool water on your face, and the food will be out when you’re ready.” He chucked Cas on the bicep and strolled out, just as the servers arrived at the table. “Huh, speak of the devil. Are they gonna be sorry they missed him!”

They worked their way through a few dishes, Cas marveling at this spice and that flavor. Meanwhile, Dean laughed, “It all tastes like lava to me,” destroying a chunk of plain naan and downing another half a glass of water to no effect. 

“Hey, I never asked: where do you crash at night with your sleeping bag and your new clothes?”

Cas set his teacup carefully in its saucer. “I find sleeping under the stars to be very satisfying.” 

“What? No, Cas, you can’t do that. Let me get you an efficiency, or-” 

“No, Dean.”

“You’ll freeze to death.”

“Maybe I still believe I’ll have a place to live before winter sets in. Maybe I still believe that I’ll be invited back-”

“Cas, if there was any other way… Sammy-”

“Then what else should I do, Dean?” he spat. “I have nowhere else to go!”

That cut deep. “Cas,” he whined. 

“You have to tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Whatever it is that you are specifically not telling me.”

“I can’t,” he said to the table.

“Dean.”

He breathed out slowly. “Hypothetically. What do you know about Ezekiel?”

Cas blinked. “Ezekiel? How is that relevant to-”

“Come on, help me out. What do you know?”

“Um, I told you what I know: he’s a good soldier.”

“Uh-huh. What else? Personally, as a friend, or-”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. We don’t think like that, typically. He’s a soldier, so… loyal? Um. Ambitious, maybe.”

“You served with him?”

“I was his superior officer.”

“Did he have any reason to dislike you? He have a grudge against you?”

“No. Dean, why are you running through the FBI script?”

“Well. He definitely doesn’t want to have anything to do with you now.”

“He said that? In the hospital?”

Dean sucked in breath. _Whoops, too close._ “No, but uh, your name came up and he seemed, uh.”

Cas pulled a face that said _Cut the crap_. “Dean.”

“Shit.” _That’s it, I’m busted. Fuck._

Cas cocked his head a tiny bit to the left and mouthed the word, “What?”

Dean sighed and threw his hands up. “Either Sammy’s slipping in his old age, or you’re just really good at reading me,” he mumbled.

Cas stared pointedly. “I’m really good at reading you. Tell me. Everything.”

And to Dean’s infinite credit, he did. It took the better part of an hour, and by then the restaurant had nearly reached capacity. The wait staff buzzed around here and there, refilling waters, boxing leftovers, clearing plates, hoping to chat again with the handsome young American who spoke to them so prettily in the language of home. But Cas had eyes only for Dean and he listened patiently to yet another tragic Winchester saga born of miscommunication and secrecy. At the end of the recitation, Cas said only, “Let me pay, and we can discuss strategy back at the car. You carry the leftovers.”

“Okay but don’t forget the tip.”

~

“What was the damage?”

“What?”

“The total. Let me pay half.”

“No. I wanted to take you out,” he said, ears slightly pink.

“So this was a practice date?”

“Um.”

“It’s okay, Cas, I don’t mind you using me,” Dean laughed. “Whatever makes you happy.”


End file.
